


Tales without Volume

by dodds



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies RPF, Thor (2011) RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-13 11:57:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dodds/pseuds/dodds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He loved her. Not him. He was sorry, visible in his eyes. It was honesty not jealously as he spoke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tales without Volume

**Author's Note:**

> written for kellynkupcake @ tumblr. was going to be a flashfic but it ended up longer.

He’s startled. Nothing else. No anger, no sadness, no betrayal. It’s his mind giving up on everything within reason. His fingers stretch but they don’t find Chris’ hand. Not because he’s not there, but because he pulls away. They’re inches, yet feet away.

It’s an invisible, silent barrier standing right between us, diverting comfortable silence and all words to tension and numbness. Tom swallows loudly, but no words have the courage to roll off his lips. No tears are cowardly enough to fall.

Chris’ hand is cold on his cheek, his thumb wiping away non-existent tears. Their eyes speak books made out of twenty-six letters and too many syllables to be said by one man. He doesn’t dare to look into the other’s eyes, staring at their feet, inches apart, instead. Pointed at each other, like in the wedding dance they’d never dance.

He knows what Chris is not saying. He knows what Chris wants to say. They can’t speak the words, yet they need to hear them. It’s madness within the brain, that translates to utter silence of confusion. It’s destroying him from the inside-out but he won’t give in to it. Neither won’t.

 _Sorry._ It’s barely a whisper, nearly inaudible over their loud breathing. How it rolled of his lips, he didn’t know but the hand on his cheek left. Shocked, in a twitchy mood. The feet shuffle away. He can feel the barrier leave, the emotions change, the silence shivering.

 _Why?_ Chris’ voice is soft, full of regret. It’s too much. Tom looks up at him, straight into Chris’ eyes. Everything, every unshed tear rolled over his face. It were silent tears and he had no problem controlling his breathing. Not a sob choked out of his mouth.

 _I shouldn’t have put you through the decision. Just go._ The tears mix up his sight. Chris’ is a shape without a form, a shade of pale but without a true colour. As he gestures at Chris to leave, it’s a gesture but without the motion. Some sort of paralyzed force that still makes him move.

The lips are chapped and rough on his, stubble rubbing into stubble. It’s a kiss of goodbye and of unsaid hidden feelings. A kiss neither of them are willing to share, but they still put their soul in it like their lives are depending on it.

 _Go._ His hands land on Chris’ chest to put extra power in the words, but he doesn’t have the strength to push him away. To lead him towards the door he didn’t want him to disappear through. It’s complicated and everything contradicts each other. Yet all is simple as untroubled water, rain falling down on the balcony of their apartment.

Inches between them again, the barrier there. They both choke on words that have no volume. Words of comfort that would be lies. Lies that would be true. It’s never enough yet they have more than enough to tell a life.

Love is ups. And it’s downs. It’s forgetting there are two and becoming one, but always knowing part of you is someone else. Splitting up is breaking apart. Shared limbs, shared memories torn in a half like a photograph you like but with an ex girlfriend in them. Pictures kept in wallets with a newly made edge.

Entwined fingers are loosened. Eyes are diverted to ceilings, walls, shoes. The rug has a stain of coffee spilled when the passion caused Chris to knock a cup over. It wasn’t cleaned, never because it was a memory. A pillow lies on the sofa as a sign of Tom snoring too loud.

There are scrambled eggs on a plate on the side table as a sign of breakfast before the television. The same television that is on mute after Chris had told about Elsa. The breakfast was left alone, the pacing had woken the neighbours.

There wasn’t a fight. There wasn’t any shouting, but their throats were dry as if they had. The words not yelled, barely spoken had caused mental scarring, physical scarring. Wounds to never be healed. Every person has scars and no one is able to cover them up. If scars are like tattoos, tattoos like scars, some people showed their life. Other hid it underneath layers of clothing. Behind a façade they pulled up every day.

A mask both had broken in the beginning, and built up again along the way of exploring. A mask shattered across the stained rug, the left over breakfast and the pillow. A mask dropped in the presence of the other creator.

 _I’m so sorry. I love her._ There’s an unspoken ‘more’ that sends Tom crashing into the floor. His legs like jelly, they slip from beneath him. They give up on him and let him fall. Not the couple of feet that would get him onto the rug. It’s a long fall, through memories mixed up in his mind. It’s hate. Anger. Betrayal. Yet he doesn’t feel jealous of Elsa. She’s someone else, he is his own person. They have different trigger points though Tom doesn’t know what is his.

 _Please leave._ He hurls something towards Chris that aren’t words. Neither are it objects and above all it is not silence. It’s something that smacks Chris right in the face. Something Tom immediately regrets doing. The tears stop, yet keep rolling down. He looks up at Chris, pain openly showing in his eyes.

 _Just go. Go to see her._ It’s not a snarl, it’s honesty. He knows Chris won’t be happy staying with him, leaving Elsa wander in the sides of his life. _I’ll live, Chris. You know I will._ He doesn’t even know it himself. Life without Chris, with that man to a woman’s side. No one on his, but Luke pushing him forwards ever so gentle through the fans.

Chris speaks words without a volume as he leaves the apartment, his mouth slightly opened. He’s on the verge of speaking so Tom stands up with as much power he can muster. Nothing. He wobbles on unstable legs, falling into the sofa sideways. One could call it dramatic, but he didn’t feel like doing dramatic.

The door shuts behind him and he’s left alone. Alone as he started, together as they went, alone as he left. It’s a circle that would always keep going, no matter who he decide to love into infinity.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for the strange writing style. R&R?


End file.
